“Old Kousma’s a philosopher, eh?”
Seated behind, Yourii looked at Riasantzeff’s neck, and roused from his own melancholy thoughts, endeavoured to understand what he said.
“Oh!… Yes!” he replied hesitatingly.
“I didn’t know that Sanine was such a gay dog,” laughed Riasantzeff.
Yourii was not dreaming now, and he recalled the momentary vision of Sanine and that pretty girlish face illumined by the light of a match. Again he felt jealous, yet suddenly it occurred to him that Sanine’s treatment of the girl was base and contemptible.
“No, I had no idea of it, either,” said Yourii, with a touch of irony that was lost upon Riasantzeff, who whipped up the horse and, after a while, remarked:
“Pretty girl, wasn’t she? I know her. She’s the old fellow’s grandchild,”
Yourii was silent. His contemplative mood was in a moment dispelled, and he now felt convinced that Sanine was a coarse, bad man.
Riasantzeff shrugged his shoulders, and at last blurted out:
“Deuce take it! Such a night, eh? It seems to have got hold of me, too. I say, suppose we drive back, and—”